Dear Dad,
Apparently it’s Father’s Day.
I’ve been told this is the day when I’m supposed to tell you how much I love and appreciate you.
So I thought I should probably write something.
Because, looking back, you have put up with quite a lot.
There was the recliner.
You really loved that recliner.
I know because after I scratched one corner down to something resembling lumber, you spent several weeks referring to me by names I don’t believe appear anywhere on my veterinary records.
In fairness, you left it sitting there.
With those beautiful upholstered corners.
At exactly scratching height.
I’m not saying you were asking for it.
I’m just saying we both made decisions.
Still, I didn’t get my walking papers.
I appreciated that.
Then there was the pheasant.
This one may have been partly your fault.
You took a dead bird, paid someone nearly $1,000 to make it look alive again, and then displayed it in a house with an animal whose ancestors spent thousands of years chasing things exactly like that.
I saw a pheasant.
My instincts kicked in.
There was a brief struggle.
I won.
By the time you came into the room, your expensive taxidermy had returned to a considerably more natural state.
You seemed upset.
Extremely upset.
There were words.
Several of them were new to me.
But eventually you calmed down.
And once again:
No walking papers.
Thank you.
Then there was the USB drive.
Yes.
I know.
That USB drive.
The one containing the Bitcoin.
At the time, it looked like a perfectly ordinary little plastic thing sitting somewhere it probably shouldn’t have been sitting.
So I chewed it.
Apparently there were 10 Bitcoin on it.
I didn’t really understand what that meant.
Then you explained what Bitcoin was worth.
Then you calculated what those 10 Bitcoin would be worth now.
Then you became very quiet.
Apparently they could have helped you retire.
I feel badly about that.
On the positive side, you’ve always said work builds character.
You’re welcome.
There were other incidents.
The shoe.
The remote control.
The mysterious stain nobody ever completely identified.
The time I threw up somewhere you wouldn’t discover until you stepped in it.
The 4:37 a.m. wake-up calls.
The food stolen from the counter.
The hair on absolutely everything you own.
The freshly washed floor I walked across immediately after coming inside.
The vet bill resulting from something I absolutely should not have eaten.
And that one Christmas ornament.
We don’t need to talk about the Christmas ornament.
Actually, there are probably several things we don’t need to talk about.
But here’s the thing, Dad.
You got angry sometimes.
Understandably.
You swore.
Also understandably.
Occasionally you stood in the middle of the room staring at me with an expression suggesting you were reconsidering several major life decisions.
But eventually, every single time, you forgave me.
The recliner became a story.
So did the pheasant.
Even the Bitcoin USB eventually became something you could talk about without developing that strange twitch near your left eye.
Because that’s what you’ve always done.
You fed me.
Walked me.
Opened doors for me.
Let me steal your chair.
Shared things from your plate when nobody else was looking.
Took me to the vet when something was wrong.
Sat beside me when I wasn’t feeling well.
Made sure I was warm.
Made sure I was safe.
And somehow made room for me in a life that was already pretty full.
I probably don’t understand Father’s Day.
I don’t understand calendars.
I certainly don’t understand Bitcoin.
But I understand something else.
I know where you sit.
I know the sound of your vehicle coming home.
I know which side of the sofa is yours.
I know when you’re happy.
I know when you’ve had a bad day.
And no matter where I’ve been sleeping, I know when you walk through the door.
So thank you, Dad.
For the food.
For the walks.
For the scratches behind the ears.
For forgiving the things I’ve destroyed.
For all the ordinary days nobody takes photographs of.
And most of all, for never giving me those walking papers.
Because somewhere along the way, I stopped being the animal that lived in your house.
I became family.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
I love you.
And I’m sorry about the recliner.
And the pheasant.
And the Bitcoin.
Mostly the Bitcoin.
Love,
The reason you can’t have nice things.
